Welcome to Living
by The Silent Gentleman
Summary: A story I did, based on the game Midnight Club, only from a racers point of view. This racer has a dream of being a famous racer, and the Midnight Club seems like the right place to begin. But will the danger of arrest be too much?  I do not own this gam
1. Chapter 1

I have always had a love for cars and engines, and by the time I was 13 I was determined that one day I would go onto a racing career. I had no interest in anything other than that. By the time I was 8 I could already dismantle a car engine and put it back together. Since I was 10 I would spend any available free time power-sliding my Dad's old Coronet round the field behind our house in High Sierra.

By the time I left school, however, there was no possibilities of a career. I had no graduations, and the highest grade I'd received was a C, in DT. I decided to go West, to Los Angeles, to search for a job there. The journey was fine, either hitching lifts, or walking. Though it tended to be hitching.

I arrived through Granada Hills, and was instantly overwhelmed by the sight of the city, palm trees, and best of all, the extremely blue sea. I had never seen the sea much, as we decided we couldn't afford to visit the sea too often. I managed to find a cheap flat for rent in Santa Monica, and the next day, set about looking for a job. During my searching I was taken aback by the amount of sweet rides around. There were Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Maseratis, and even Paganis.

I entered a post office, and walked over to the bored middle-aged man behind the desk.

"'Scuse me," I said, "Is there any chance you know of any jobs involving racing or anything to do with that round here?"

"Not racing." he grunted. "Well, apart from the Midnight Club. But you don't want to take part in that."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said with a smirk, "It's illegal."

After enquiring around town, I had learnt that the Midnight Club was an illegal racing club where the city was quite literally the race track. Apparently you could bring any vehicle and race it in different categories of the club. Tuners of America for small hatchbacks and nifty little cars. The Royalty Club of America for classic muscle. And so on. Each player would have to put an agreed amount of money on the line. Winner got all the other player's money. I decided to find a way to join. But I needed a car.

"Hello?"

"Yo, I was given you're number by mutual friend Tony," I said. "Said you could hook me up with some wheels."

"Whaddya need?"

"Something fast. But not too expensive , around 3 or 4 thousand."

"I know who you want. It's a guy called Karol, he runs the Hollywood Auto garage, Downtown. He can fix you with something. I'll send you his number."


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later I was driving out of the garage with a used Golf GTi. Apparently it had been given an engine upgrade, so it would be about 15mph faster than from the factory. Karol had given me the number of a guy named Booke, leader of the Midnight Club in Los Angeles. I gave him a call.

"Who is this?"

"Hi there, I was wondering if I could join the Midnight Club."

"You gotta be joking, right? Only extreme professionals join my Midnight Club."

"Well, I know a lot more about cars than your average guy."

"Whatever. I'll tell you what; I'll inform racer Henry about you. You two have a one-on-one. If you can beat him, then I'll consider you for a place in my club. How much money you willing to put on the line?"

"As much as necessary," I replied. The phone went dead. "Humph." I said to myself. "How about that."

Later that evening I was given a call.

"Hey." I said.

"This is Henry." said a nasal voice on the other end of the phone. "Booke said to give you a call. Apparently you want to join the Midnight Club?"

"That's right."

"Well, come meet me and we'll go. I'm cruising on Sunset Street."

Overcome with excitement, I rushed outside and jumped in my car. I realised I'd better get some practice on the way. That meant driving quickly. Only then did I realise I would be breaking the law, and in a life or death situation. I'd better try and get used to that. As I nosed out onto the street, I stepped on the throttle. The tiny car shot forward, pushing me back into the seat. I slowed down immediately. "Come on," I panted, "Get yourself some balls." I floored the gas. "Yaaah!' I hollered. I suddenly saw, with shock, the back of a huge SUV in front. I swerved to the left and overtook. I gasped as I saw another car fast approaching. I swerved back, narrowly avoiding the SUV, who's driver blared the horn loudly. I suddenly felt elated, overcome with adrenaline. I shoved down harder on the throttle, urging the car to go even faster. I saw a bend fast approaching, and, like the action I had practiced so many times back in High Sierra, swerved the car, and screeched sideways round the corner. I cheered at the top of my voice. Pedestrians stared in shock. I counter-steered the drift, leading out in a perfect motion. I was just about to apply the throttle again when I jumped at the sight of a tuned Toyota Prius cruising at low speed. I took evasive action. My car swerved, smashed into a bin, then came to a convenient halt in a car park. I sat there, overwhelmed. My phone rang.

"Hello?" I gasped.

"Yo, it's Henry. In order to race, the Midnight Club has it's own network for phones and satellite navigation. The host of the race programmes the route then sends it to the other racer's phones or sat-navs. I'm just going to send you our route now."

"Er… okay." Henry seemed to have paid no attention to the narrowly avoided accident. I hopped out of my car quickly to inspect the damage. Thankfully it had been one of those cheap plastic bins, and there was no damage at all. Next time, I thought nervously, I might not be so lucky.


	3. Chapter 3

I turned on the navigation on my phone. I received the file from Henry, which created a red line running through Los Angeles on the map, indicating where the race was. I studied it, then put my phone on my phone stand.

"Come on then, pimp! What do you think about $200 on the line?"

I agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. Our two cars lined up between two palm trees. Looking at Henry's car, I felt very insignificant. Henry's Prius had a custom Asanti body kit, and had been lowered on 19" DropStar rims, complete with Brembo brakes and Pirelli tires. It also had a custom-made vinyl, and tinted purple windows, as well as massive Rohen twin exhaust pipes. Henry revved the engine, with gave out a throaty roar. I tried to calm myself. "Don't judge a book by it's cover." I thought, grimly. "That car is probably a load of crap."

"3!" I revved my engine. "2!" I put it in gear and revved, but kept the handbrake on. "1!" I gripped the wheel tightly, so tightly my knuckles turned white. "GO!" I shoved the handbrake down and the car rocketed forward, in a perfect burnout. I had got off to a cleaner start than Henry, but he soon started catching up. He overtook me, and started to pull away, though I clung to his rear end, keeping in the slip stream. We screeched into the first corner, drifting sideways. I steered hard left, to counter-steer. But, as if appearing out of nowhere, a car appeared. I immediately steered right again, and scraped past it. I glanced in my mirror, and sighed in relief. Henry was further away now. But I was determined. I swerved left and right, avoiding traffic. I grinned to myself. This was a hell of a lot of fun. Suddenly, screeching in out of another junction and joining me on the same road, a group of SUVs and 4x4s appeared, obviously racing. I was overtaken by a massive Jeep. The driver, who appeared very relaxed, and had his window down, grinned at me. I was struck by a bigger determination, created by his patronising smile. I pressed down harder on the accelerator, and my GTi surged forward. The man in the Jeep stopped grinning. I surged past him. I gasped. There, off to the left, was a deserted alleyway. I had an idea. I glanced at my phone. I was right; that alleyway cut out a sizeable portion of my race. I screeched across the road, narrowly missing a car coming the other way. The man in the Jeep blasted his horn. I ricocheted down the alleyway, hitting a few old boxes and scraping against a grimy wall. I burst out into sunlight again, screeching into the path of Henry. I glanced in my mirror, in time to see Henry's shocked face. I smiled, in satisfaction. I could do this. Henry started to catch up again. I steered into his way. Henry braked violently, and I saw him swearing in his Prius. I laughed, and drifted smoothly into the next corner, neatly missing another car. Henry, however, clipped it with his oversized front bumper. His car swerved violently, and I could see him frantically trying to correct himself. He managed to get back on track, but by now I was far ahead. A couple of minutes later, I grinned as the finish line came into sight. Just then, Henry burst out of a driveway to my right. He had obviously taken a shortcut through someone's back lawn, and now we were side by side. I had an idea. I swerved violently, but not so violently that I wouldn't lose control. Henry, conscious of his precious Toyota, swerved as well to avoid collision, and like I expected, hit the sidewalk. His car swerved, dough-nutted, then smashed into a street lamp. I screeched across the finish line, then drifted round in a graceful arc, where I came to a halt. I slumped back in my seat. That was the best 7 minutes of my entire life. I whooped.

Henry kicked open his door, then marched over to me, glaring furiously.

"You.. you.." he spluttered. I grinned at him. "Look at my ride!" he squeaked hysterically. The front of his Prius had been smashed inwards.

"Bad luck, mate." he handed over the $200, his hand shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

I decided it would be a bad idea to hang around, as many people had seen my car racing, and I didn't want to meet the police. I headed back to Santa Monica, where I gave Booke a call the next day.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's me, the guy you spoke to yesterday."

"Ah yes. What do you want?"

"I beat said if I did that, you'd consider me for a place-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. I will. Now I think you should face up against Matthew and his boys. They are one of the small racing teams round here. Part of the Tuners of America division."

"Er.. sure."

My second race. I couldn't wait. I headed over to Palm Springs, where the race was being healed. I was up against Matthew and 4 other racers, all with pimped-up tuners. I received the file with the race on. I studied carefully, and managed to find three shortcuts. "3! 2! 1! GO!" All 6 racers surged forwards, but I was surprised to find out that none of them were quite as fast as Henry had been. Obviously Booke hadn't thought too hard about this. I smiled, and stepped on the accelerator.

The race was a complete walkover. Mainly it was because of the three shortcuts, but I had narrowly missed collision with a semi. One of the other racers hadn't been so lucky. I had almost come second, but Matthew, who was right alongside me, had changed gear a bit sloppily and his car had fallen behind. $200 from each racer. That meant $1000. I was thrilled, and knew exactly what to do with my cash.

I headed straight over to Hollywood Auto, and purchased an engine upgrade. Not a mega-expensive one, but one that would make a noticeable difference. I also bought a body kit which suited my style, and some Lexini rims. I then bought a Borja exhaust pipe. I was pretty pleased with the results, and painted my GTi black, with a red stripe down the middle. As I nosed out onto the road, I felt good. I had won two races, and was spending the money on pimping my ride. My life. Just then, to my dismay, a police car came over and stopped me.


	5. Chapter 5

A fat officer who looked distinctly tired emerged out of the car. I felt miserable as he plodded towards me. I knew I had been seen racing, and I shouldn't have been so keen to buy a body kit so quickly, which made me look more conspicuous.

"Right," he grunted, "I need to see documents confirming this body kit's not stolen." I was so relieved I almost laughed. What an idiot. Sees me emerging from a garage with a brand-spanking new body kit, then asks me if it isn't stolen. I showed him the papers, and he grunted again. "Just we're on the lookout. Seems some punk has been stealing body kit parts then selling them at reduced prices. Where'd you get this kit from?'

"The garage behind me."

"Oh."

"Yes."

"Well, on you go then," he muttered, handing back the papers. I set off, hearing a lovely rumble from the exhaust. The phone rang when I got back to my flat.

"Matt says you beat him." it was Booke. "Nice work. I will give you a place in Midnight Club, but you gotta choose a sub-division club to be part of." Booke told me a list of clubs I could join. Muscle of America sounded good, where the only cars allowed were those with two doors and a V8. Big Playas was apparently a very laid-back club, and I liked that sort of thing. Also Luxury Rollers, the most luxurious cars on the market, sounded nice.

"Can you change club?" I enquired.

"Depends what the club leader says. I ain't part of that. If you want to choose a club, ask the leader if you would be able to change first before you run headlong into things. Any possibilities?" I told him what clubs I was considering and he gave me the leader numbers.

I started by calling the Muscle of America club leader.

"Yo, who is dis?"

"Hi, I've just got me a place in Midnight Club and I was considering joining your part of the club."

"Good choice, blood. You got a muscle car?"

"Well, no, but.."

"Best get your hand on one then, eh? As a matter of fact, I've heard tell of a tournament later this month, winner gets a Mustang."

"Would it be possible to change car clubs if Muscle gets a bit too… inconvenient?" I asked.

"Why the hell would you wanna change from Muscle of America?" the guy said, with a chuckle.

"I wouldn't, I was just wondering."

"Maybe. So you gonna enter for that Mustang?"

"I'll get back to you on that. Mr…?"

"Just Andrew. Sure thing, blood." Andrew hung up. I considered what he'd said. Muscle cars seemed like a good idea, after all muscle cars were extremely popular in America, not to mention fast and cool. Next phone call I made was to the owner of the Luxury Rollers club.

"What's up?" came the voice.

"The sky."

"Whatever. Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"I've just got a place in the Midnight Club and was wondering if you could hook me up with your part of the club, Mr..?"

"Marcos. Yes. Just as long as you got something that classes as a luxury sedan. There are also some Mercedes sports cars that classify as well."

"Would it be possible to change to another club should it be necessary?" I enquired.

"Can't see why the hell you'd want to. But yeah, I suppose."

"Okay, thanks. I'll call you back."

"Whatever."

Again, another maybe; though Marcos didn't seem too friendly. Last call, Big Playas.

"Yo! This is Lester." declared the person on the other end of the phone. "Big rides, big wheels, big money. Big Playas Car Club. What can I do for you, brother?"

I liked the sound of Lester already.

"Hi there, I've just joined the Midnight Club, and I was wondering if I could join the Big Playas."

"Sure! You gotta SUV or a truck?"

"I'm afraid not, but I can work on that."

"Aha, I bet you can. There's a tournament tomorrow up Beverly Hills. Winner gets a Toyota Hilux… The losers pay for it. Lucky for you, eh?" He roared with laughter. "What do you say, kid?"

"I'm up for it. But would it be possible to change clubs if the need be?"

"Of course. I don't care!" My eyes suddenly filled with a vision of me cruising down Sunset Street at dusk in an SUV, winking at a babe on the sidewalk.

"I'll go for it."

"Good luck, brother."

"Thanks." I hung up. Finally, I was getting somewhere in life.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun shone bright on California the next day. I thought my car looked good, as I walked out the front door.

I was extremely nervous when I saw how many people had turned up to race and watch the tournament (Though not at the same time.) There was a wide range of vehicles racing, a small Renault Twingo up to a large Lexus IS300. All of them looked extremely fast.

"Welcome, brothers!" shouted Lester, and everyone hushed down. "To a First to 3 Tournament!" Everybody cheered. "We have 8 racers, all out to win the grand prize, a Toyota Hilux, brand new. And of course, they want to win so they don't have to pay for it!" the crowd roared with approval. "Let's get going then! Racers, let's have your phones and sat-navs! The first racer to win 3 races wins!" we programmed in the first race, which looked quite complicated.

We lined up on a piece of rope. The race track was one, long, circuit. I gripped the wheel tighter than I ever had before. All the racers revved their engines. The sound of roaring engines filled the morning. The audience went mad. The contestants put their cars into gear, ready for a burnout off the line.

"3!" I gritted my teeth, and revved the engine as high as I dared, urging for more power off the line. "2! 1! GO!" The power of my start threw me back in my seat even more than usual, but I pulled myself forward again, using the steering wheel to keep me upright. All the racers were unbelievably close. I thought it was a miracle that no-one had- SMASH. A massive 1960 Dodge Challenger smashed into the side of the Renault Twingo, which went flying. The driver of the Challenger swerved to correct himself, and the Twingo landed on a dustbin, which smashed it's underside. The small car ground to a halt. At first I felt sorry for the driver of the Twingo, but soon myself was under threat from the ruthless driver of the Challenger, who obviously had no regard for the well-being of his beautiful car. I braked hard to avoid being smashed sideways by him, and he skidded off to the left. I floored the throttle, but I didn't have enough power to overtake him. The driver of the Challenger seemed to lose interest in me, and started to pull away. At that moment I noticed a little car park running along the side of a building and ending at the edge of another road, the road which was part of the race. I swerved my car sideways, but the drift didn't work and I scraped my GTi against the building. I skidded out of the car park, just in time to block the path of the Challenger; I was right in front of him. But the driver didn't stop. There was a loud crash as he rammed my little car. I swore under my breathe. I floored the accelerator, but could not pull away from the mighty muscle car, who's driver rammed me again. I swore a second time. The driver of the Challenger stamped on his accelerator to try and ram me, but I swerved out of the way. The Challenger surged past me. I waited until the timing was right then swerved back. CRASH. I smashed my Golf into the rear wheel on the right-hand side of the muscle car. The driver, who had not been expecting it, screeched out of control, then smashed into the corner of another building. I cheered. Just then my phone rang. I drifted round a corner, waited until I was under control then pressed the answer button.

"Nice work there, Homie." came the voice of one of the other racers. I was about to reply, but he hung up. I got back to racing. By now, I was in second position. The racer in first, who was in a tuned Volkswagen Jetta, was doing all he could to stop me overtaking him. I dummied trying to overtake left; he swerved left, I went right, and managed to pull up along side him. He smashed into me, but now I had had enough of expecting clean play, so I smashed him back. He skidded left, then right, then finally did a complete doughnut. "Yah!" I shouted, then crossed the finish line. One win. Only two more needed.


	7. Chapter 7

The next race was in the late afternoon. It was one that went right through Beverly Hills, then along the coastline, then along a shot bit of the Highway, ending up back downtown. I was looking forward to this. I could beat these pimps.

"3! 2! 1! Go!" I got off to a good start, and managed to get in front of everyone else. Unfortunately, however, the racer had repaired his Dodge Challenger, and no sooner had I taken the lead, his car flew past me. Evidently he remembered what I had done to him that morning, and was keeping his distance. But I wasn't. I cut the first corner narrowly, racing so close to the building I could reach out and touch it. Luckily, the Challenger hadn't got much grip, and it skidded wide. I took advantage and cut in front of him. He then drove to the right, accelerated a little, then swerved back into my rear wheel, repeating the exact manoeuvre I had pulled on him in the morning. But I was ready. I quickly counter-steered. He had seen what I had done, and braked, so that I would swerve out of control. But I was ready for this as well, and immediately steered back in line of the road. I laughed at the sight of his face in the mirror. He was swearing, as him braking had meant he had fallen some way behind, and had just been overtaken.

We skidded into the road that ran through Beverly Hills, and this had only one lane on each side. This was the first time I had raced on such a small road, and it was tricky. Once or twice I had to go onto the grass to avoid collision with other road users. However, when the road was clear, I could drift my little car round the corners perfectly. This was brilliant. I was about to power-slide round another corner when a Nissan 350z burst out of the bushes and took the lead. I jumped in surprise, and my car swerved dangerously. I hastily corrected it, but the 350z was pulling away. I thought fast. There was a corner approaching, with a large amount of grassland at the apex. I cut the corner widely, skidding across the grass, while the Nissan went on the road. I managed to scrape in front. I sighed in relief, and the driver blasted his horn. I stamped on the throttle, but the Nissan stayed right behind me, trying to overtake. I repeatedly moved into his way, but I knew he was working out a way past. I had to think of something, because the Highway was fast approaching and, with 5 lanes, the Nissan would overtake easily. A gravel lane came into view, which headed down the hillside. I made as if to go down there, like it was a shortcut. The Nissan, anxious not to lose his position, followed me. But at the last second, I swerved out of the way back to the road, and the Nissan roared down the gravel track, the wrong way. It had worked. The 350z now had to stop, reverse out, and then continue down the road, but by now he was in last. I didn't have time to feel sorry. It was great fun, flying down the Highway. I casually manoeuvred round other vehicles, picking out the best routes. But just then, I heard the sound of a siren. I had not encountered the police yet, and I had no idea what to do. Pull over? Hide? Pay the fine? Or just keep racing? I badly wanted that Hilux. I decided to keep going, after all, the other racers were some way behind. The police would have to deal with the rest of the racers before me, anyway. At that moment, a police car appeared on the other side of the Highway, cut across then started chasing me. I gasped in horror, and applied as much throttle as I could muster from the little GTi. The police car however, was a large saloon, and was having difficulty keeping up. I saw this, and my nervousness faded. I quickly looked for ways through the traffic that the saloon would have trouble fitting through. Eventually, I saw the turn off, and went down it. But to my shock, there was another police car under the bridge beneath the Highway. I swerved to avoid him. I was losing control… come on, come on. I managed to get back on track, and floored the accelerator. I screeched into an alleyway behind a building and cut out part of the journey, smashing from one side to the other. I was dimly aware of a crash behind me, but concentrated on getting to the finish line. I had no idea whether the police were still on my tail or not, but I did know another racer was right behind me. I skidded round a corner then WHOOMPH! I crossed the finish line, and drifted to a halt. I exhaled loudly. I had made it. Now only one race to go.

I had no idea what happened to the police cars after I lost sight of them. I vaguely remember someone saying they had smashed into each other, both ruining each other's cars. Whatever had happened, I didn't encounter the police again for a few weeks. The driver of the 350z was not pleased with my faked shortcut. He was shouting as we geared up for what would hopefully be the last race, if I won. The other drivers were not looking hopeful. What with the 350z, the Challenger, and myself, they did not have much chance of winning the tournament. However, I was worried. This race was a straight sprint from one side of Los Angeles to the other, using only the highway. I knew I was not that fast. I was nifty, for sure. But that Challenger, or the 350z, or indeed even another racer's Ford Focus, would probably beat me.


End file.
